Runa’s phone calls gave us two more names, Noriko McCord and Cristal Ferrer. Noriko had died in House warfare three years ago. Cristal Ferrer was a prodigy. She graduated from high school at fifteen, earned her bachelor’s two years later, and three years later successfully defended a dissertation in molecular biology followed by a second in genetics. She would have been a scientific savant, if it wasn’t for her magic. She was a Magister Examplaria, like Bern, but her specialization wasn’t computers and code, it was the microbiology of the human body.

I logged into the Warden Network. In five minutes, I had everything the government and the Assembly knew about Cristal, from her SSN and DL to the particulars of her magic and the family scandal of her grandmother running away with a Chinese businessman. House Ferrer was well connected, with half a dozen active alliances and an MCI badge by their name, which stood for Military Contractor Inactive.

Cristal ticked all the boxes. She was a Prime from House Ferrer, which specialized in genetic research and treatment. She ran her own lab, Biocine Laboratories. She had a reason to resent her parents, who had likely pushed her out of her peer group and into college. And after Bern read three of her scientific papers, he declared that her written voice pattern matched Magdalin’s posts.

I stared at her picture. She didn’t look like a monster. Twenty-six, average height, average build, pale, with dark blond hair and golden highlights. Pleasant features, a heart-shaped face, large blue eyes. She seemed brittle in her images, likely half upbringing and half deliberate effect. Cristal was clearly trying to fit into the fragile flower category of high society; lovely yet delicate and looking for someone to shield her from the harsh world.

I could have been a version of her, if I’d wanted to. I’d had Arrosa and three years of education on how to look, what to say, what not to say, and how to say it. Cristal spent that time earning her degrees. The fragile flower pose allowed her to fit neatly into an established niche.

She blended in, but she was still broken. Somehow Cristal never learned that it was wrong to rob people of their humanity.

It took us half an hour to assemble Cristal’s dossier. It took me less than five minutes to tie her to Diatheke. Cristal was a member of the Houston Opera Admiration Society. Randall Baker, Diatheke’s figurehead founder, was also a member. A picture of last year’s gala had run in the newspaper, gushing about the money the society had raised for charity by selling invitation-only tickets at one hundred thousand dollars a pop. In it, Cristal sat at a round table. To her left, four seats down, Benedict De Lacy raised a champagne flute to his lips.

This was as close to a smoking gun as we could get. It would never stand up in court, but it didn’t need to. I went into my office, shut the door, and emailed the dossier to Linus. I could see straight through the glass door into the conference room. The entire family was watching me, silent. Runa’s face turned white again.

My phone rang. I picked it up.

“What’s your assessment of access?” Linus asked.

“Extremely limited. Her family is well connected and has a history of cooperation with military forces.”

All of which I had put into our report. Getting an interview with her would be difficult, getting her House’s permission for me to magic her would be impossible, and if we used brute force and demanded she submit to interrogation and I was wrong, there would be hell to pay.

“I can compel her testimony, but we will need verification,” Linus said.

“Cristal rarely leaves the House Ferrer compound,” I continued.

“But she does enjoy the opera,” Linus said.

“Yes, but the next HOAS gala is tonight, in less than three hours. The tickets for the Crystal Ball are invitation-only and have been sold out for months—”

“I’ll pick you and Alessandro up at seven.”

He hung up.

No good job, no thumbs up. Just pick you up at seven.

Arabella jumped up, ran across the hallway, and opened my door. “What did he say?”

“He wants me to go with him and Alessandro to the gala. Tonight. At seven.”

I stared at my phone. 5:37 p.m. There was no way. The hair alone . . .

“Up!” Arabella snapped at me. “You have less than an hour and a half. You need a shower.”

I texted Alessandro, Opera, 7:00 p.m., tuxedo, and ran upstairs, thanking Arrosa in my head for insisting that I buy a small but expensive wardrobe.

I had three evening dresses: a white sheath, a red dress the color of blood, and a flowing blue gown that hugged my breasts and waist, spilling into a flowing skirt. The sheath was too tight to allow any sort of running, the red dress drew too much attention, so the blue gown was it.

It had taken a miracle, but at 6:58 p.m. Arabella herded everyone into the kitchen, so I could go into Runa’s bedroom and change, because there was no way I could make it down the stairs in the gown.

I stepped into a pair of small silver heels, slipped the dress on, and examined myself in the mirror. My dark hair fell on my shoulders in wide waves, combed back behind one ear in a deep side part. It framed my face, showing off the diamond earrings glittering in my ears. The diamonds were lab made. Arrosa had insisted on the real thing, but I’d refused. Nobody had died digging my earrings out of the ground, and that mattered more to me than what Houston’s elite would think.

My makeup was light for the evening. I never looked good wearing bright lipstick, so I opted for a lighter pink and smoky eyes. Given another half an hour, I would have done a better job contouring my face, but it would have to do. I looked appropriate for the evening, and nobody would laugh in my face. Most of it was in your poise anyway. As long as you looked like you belonged at the venue, people assumed you were supposed to be there, and being escorted by Alessandro Sagredo and Linus Duncan meant most of the attention would be on them.

I took a deep breath and walked out of the room. Voices drifted from the kitchen, and I headed in that direction.

“. . . a dignified pleasant gentleman,” Alessandro was saying. “I was honored to make Mr. Duncan’s acquaintance.”

Honored my ass.

“We shared a drink. It was perfectly cordial—”

I walked into the kitchen. Alessandro stopped in mid-sentence.

He was wearing a tuxedo. It fit him like a glove. He looked like he was born in it, every inch a Prime.

I had seen him in a tuxedo a dozen times on his Instagram, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the real thing. My pulse sped up. I felt slightly light-headed. I wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination. People weren’t that handsome in real life. It just didn’t work that way.

It dawned on me that he was staring at me with a slightly bewildered expression.

My sister opened her mouth. Runa elbowed her.

Silence stretched.

I waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to just stare at me.

And this wasn’t awkward. Not at all.

Everyone’s phone chimed, announcing someone at our front door. The most beautiful assassin in the world blinked. It was enough to snap me out of my trance.

“That’s probably Linus. We should go.” I slid my phone into a small, glittering Edie Parker clutch.

Alessandro came back to life. “Yes, we should.”

Grandma Frida blocked the way. “Neither of you are going anywhere until I get a pic for my Insta.”

“Grandma, they’re not going to the prom,” Arabella protested.

“Shush. They’re going to a high society shindig and I’m getting at least one good picture of them together.”

If we didn’t do it, I’d never hear the end of it. “He’s supposed to be in Hawaii right now.”

“I won’t post it until next week.”

I turned to Alessandro. “She’s lying.”

Alessandro graced her with his brilliant smile. “I’d be delighted to pose for a picture.”

“Smile, Catalina,” Grandma commanded.

I arranged my face into a carefree smile.

Grandma took the pic and checked it.

“Good enough?” I asked.

“It will do.”

Alessandro offered me his arm, I put my hand on his wrist, and we walked down the hallway. He smelled of sandalwood, vanilla, and a hint of citrus. I felt completely ridiculous. I was Cinderella going with my prince to a ball. Where I would beguile and interrogate a woman who made monsters for an assassin consortium, and I had to do a very good job so the National Assembly wouldn’t murder the lot of us.

We reached the door to the office, he held it open for me, and we headed to the front door. Every step was an effort, like someone had put a rubber band around my legs.

“You look very beautiful,” Alessandro said.

When given a compliment, always respond, Arrosa’s voice murmured in my head. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”

He opened the door and I walked out into the street, where Linus’ armored Escalade waited under the light of the streetlamp.

“Weapons?” Linus asked.

“No,” I said. I had checked the security requirements for the gala. Ever since Baranovsky, one of the richest Primes in the country, was murdered at his own charity dinner, the safety measures for high society events had risen to ridiculous levels.

Alessandro shrugged. “No need. There will be plenty of security people around.”

And they would be carrying weapons he could copy.

“How wide is your range?” Linus asked.

Alessandro gave him his wolfish smile.

“I ask, because I brought a full trunk. How close does the vehicle need to be to the building?”